


Golden

by beetbazaar



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Morning Routines, Nezumi uses they/them pronouns in this, Other, This could be rated G but im playing it safe, Trans Character, honestly probably pretty OOC but also this is long after reunion so, post reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetbazaar/pseuds/beetbazaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shion wakes up before Nezumi to make breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my friend Sky who asked for Shion making Nezumi breakfast in bed but Nezumi wakes up before he can finish.  
> Nezumi uses They/Them pronouns in this fic!  
> No Beta so any typos and tense mistakes are on me, ha.

              Every window in the apartment is open, the balcony doors thrown wide—an old habit that Shion still can’t seem to kick. Summer rain spots the floorboards underneath the sills, dark drops on already rotting wood. It dusts the piles of books next to the couch, patters on the iron wrought furniture on the balcony. The light that shines through the droplets floods the room gold and hazy and bright, silhouetting Shion in the kitchen and making his hair gleam like a halo.

              The clock above the stove blinks 7:23 a.m in green LEDs, and Shion stares at it contemplatively wondering if he can make it down to the bakery to grab breakfast before Nezumi wakes up. Three omelet corpses sit limp and burnt at the top of the trash, and he’s one about egg fire away from sticking a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and calling it a day.

               It’s too late to admit to himself that he has no idea how to cook—the years of takeout dinners and company brunches deteriorated any skill he might’ve picked up as a child, and ever since Nezumi came back they’ve insisted on cooking meals instead. Shion gazes back at the trashcan where the last few attempts sit in plain view, then to the rapidly depleting carton of eggs. Sighing, he begins to crack two more into a plastic container, hoping that with all the windows open the inevitable fire wont set off the alarm.

               Shion hears rather than sees Nezumi shuffle into the kitchen, their feet dragging lazily across the warm tiles. A pair of arms wraps loosely around his middle as Nezumi all but collapses onto Shion’s back, their head coming to rest in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

               “What’re you doing?” They mumble. At least, that’s what Shion thinks they’re saying. It’s hard enough just concentrating on beating the eggs without trying to decipher Nezumi’s morning speech at the same time. Not to mention Nezumi is very very close and they’re exhaling tiny cold breaths onto Shion’s neck and he can barely untangle anything from the overwhelming sensory input that is Nezumi pressing against him.

               “Shion,” Nezumi says when he doesn’t answer, raising their head off of his shoulder, “Is this ok?” Their voice is low, cautious, soothing. Shion notices that they smell like his shampoo, sharp and citrusy.

               “Oh.” Shion blinks a couple of times before flashing a bright smile. “Yeah. Yeah it’s fine. And I’m making you breakfast. In bed. Which you are not in.” He manages to get words out with every several whisks, a miracle considering that Nezumi is beginning to trace absentminded patterns into the shirt fabric over his stomach with their fingernails. God give him strength.

               Nezumi hums deeply in response, a sound that reverberates through their chest and pulses through Shion’s entire body. “It was cold,” they breathe, their lips so close to Shion’s neck that he can feel it when they stretch them into a smile. “You overbeat the eggs.”

               Shion glances down at his hands. The whisk had pushed the beaten yolk over the lip of the container and onto the countertop where it sat sticky and golden in the light. He barely registers when Nezumi takes the whisk from his hand and places it next to the stove, because their lips are on his neck and their other hand somehow found its way under the hem of his shirt where it is currently running gently up and down his side.

               “I’ll make breakfast when we wake up,” Nezumi murmurs into the skin of his neck. Shion can’t remember why he thought it had been a good idea to wake up in the first place. He remembers the feeling of his forehead pressed up against their shoulder, Nezumi’s tiny snores. The warm kitchen with the open windows and summer rain now seems freezing in comparison to his arms wrapped around Nezumi in their small bed.

               Shion turns around in Nezumi’s grasp, one hand moving to fit on their hip. Nezumi is softer now—hips flared from curves that couldn’t exist in Westblock, the line of their jaw less severe, their smile less elusive. He registers that they’re wearing one of his old t-shirts. A geological pun is written across their chest.

               His other hand tucks a stray hair behind Nezumi’s ear before tracing at the corner of their mouth with his thumb.

               “Can I…?” Shion trails off, thumbing over Nezumi’s bottom lip. His voice is quiet; he can barely hear himself over the pounding—although he can’t tell if it’s the rain that picked up or his heart.

               Nezumi tries to smirk at him but it comes out more like a smile, lopsided and large and beautiful. Shion knows that it’s his heart drumming in his ears now. “Can’t wait until we get in bed?” Their hand is resting at the small of his back, fingers rubbing circular shapes there.

               “If I could wait, I wouldn’t’ve asked.”

               Nezumi makes an exaggerated face as if they’re thinking it over before bringing their other hand to cup Shion’s face, fingers threading through his hair. Shion stares at them blankly for a moment.

               “Are you going to kiss me or what, your Majesty?” Nezumi’s face is closer now, their silver eyes absorbing all light in the room. “I don’t have all morning; my feet are cold.”

               And then Shion bends his head and their mouths are pressing up against each other, velvet and warm and soft and safe. The kiss is slow and languid, and it feels like the summer rain that is being blown sideways through the open windows. It feels like fire. He pulls Nezumi closer so that their bodies are flush. Nezumi’s fingers run through his hair, run over the nape of his neck. Shion doesn’t think he would ever get used to kissing Nezumi when every time it felt like this.

               When they pull apart Nezumi leans on his shoulder, eyes half lidded, puffing cool air onto the skin of his neck. Eyelashes brush his jawline.

               “C’mon Shion,” they say softly, taking Shion’s hand on their hip and folding their fingers through it, “Let’s go to sleep.”

                Shion doesn’t even think of closing the windows beforehand.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is nezxmi.tumblr.com ! thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
